The air was crisp and cold. Summer had rolled a gutter ball this year and the temperature hadn’t gone above sixty degrees in all of March and April showed no sign of changing this. A light crust of snow covered the grass. Tufts of green sprouted out of the white snow.
I tapped my pencil against my hand and thought. April break was finally here and already I was bored out of my mind. All of my friends had flocked like migrating birds south to the warmth of the Bahamas or Florida. I had been left in complete solitude to wallow in misery and boredom.
My mom- who had been sick of my complaining about having nothing to do- had given me a list of ideas of things to do over break. I had chosen writing simply because it was the activity that involved the least room cleaning and community service.
I’m not a good writer mind you; actually I’m quite bad. My book report on Tom Sawyer had come straight off the back cover. As a matter of fact I hated writing.
So, here I was, sitting at a desk, with a clean sharpened pencil in my hand, and a blank notebook that leered at me from the desk. I leaned my chin on my hands and stared at the wall in front of me. I had nothing, nada. Everybody always says that the best way to be good at writing is just to write, but how can you write if you don’t have any ideas to begin with.
I needed something, a spark, inspiration. I stood up and walked out of my room.
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